La Luna, El Sol
by Zyrin
Summary: "...The moon casts an eye on both of them until the sun relieves her from its nightly duty, the two characters don't seek out the sun, they shun its rays and watch their skin turn sickly pale..." (Katniss and Haymitch after the Mockingjay.)
1. I

**Restless Souls.**

A big house sits on top of a hill. The air seems to wither and turn stale inside it, worn wooden floorboards groaning by themselves and linen curtains blowing wildly against the open pane windows, neglectfully left open. These sounds belong to the night and travel up the staircase, penetrating a dark bedroom where a shivering body lays curled up under a single sheet.

The room begins to illuminate as the moon breaks free from the clouds, a large window by the bed giving way to its demure light. The figure looks to the light and frowns. "Its' never a full moon…" they mumble, turn their back to the crescent moon and try to ignore the sounds of the night.

Somewhere across the hill, lies another big house. The air is humid and laced with something toxic, worn wooden floorboards creaking with every heavy footed stumble a man makes out of his bedroom. The window he grabs for support is nailed shut, catching sight of the moon he whispers to himself "Well…good morning." and keeps on making sounds of the night himself, while preparing a midnight breakfast.

Two restless souls live on top a hill of bones, which used to make up a district. The night gets deeper and one falls into a fit of night terrors, the other falls into a puddle of their own vomit, but nothing changes. The moon casts an eye on both of them until the sun relieves her from her nightly duty, the two characters don't seek out the sun, they shun its rays and watch their skin turn sickly pale.

When its mid noon the man wakes and mutters profanities at his state, he picks up his tired old bones from the bathroom floor and drags himself into a shower. His head is spinning in infinite circles as he leans his head agains the cold tiles, the water turns into a blistering hot temperature but he does not seem to mind. He looks down at his shaking hands and tries to think of what he is supposed to do that day, but he cant remember. The stale smell of alcohol and rancid vomit penetrates his nostrils as soon as he steps out of the shower, his stomach churns and he dry heaves into the toilet, realising he is standing bare foot in his breakfast.

It is almost evening by the time the man is fully dressed, he stands in front his fridge which is covered in various pieces of paper, attached by magnets, glue and the occasional saliva. Ever since he started drinking again, his memory has been deteriorating, so much that he now resorts to writing things down he needs to do when he's sober enough to hold a pen. His hands shake as he finds today's list of to-do's;

 _April 3rd_

 _-buy food  
-buy booze  
_

 _-_ _clean up?_

 _-_ ** _KATNISS_**

The last reminder was written over and over again to make the name stand out, it sent a migraine to his head as his stomach churned uncomfortably. He grabbed his wallet and keys, but didn't bother locking his door.

Night had begun creeping behind him as he trudged through mud, he passed a familiar house and glanced at it, curtains trying to escape through the open windows and not a single light escaping from it, the house seemed to absorb all the light around it like a black hole, he suppressed a shiver.

He makes it to the food stall just in time, he purchases himself the basics; eggs, milk, bread and butter. Knowing that half of it will go stale for his lack of attention to it, but he buys another set of the same stock, along with strawberries, grapes, plums and some vegetables. He gets a single set of handmade shampoo, conditioner and soap that smell of fresh mango and peach, and on impulse grabs an old book and stuffs it into his bag. By the time he's done, the moon reflects on his long blond hair and the sound of glass bottles chiming in his bag gives him a broken and out of tune melody to walk to.

The sound disturbs the quiet existence of another, who began to shift in their bed and stretch their unused bones, their eyes narrowing at the sight of the moon as the broken tune seemed to only get closer. They sighed and spat out a single name "Haymitch." sounding more like a swear word, they groaned into their pillow and at that moment the door was kicked open and they heard a single lyric being sang;

"Sweetheart, I'm home!"

* * *

i have a thing for the moon, i have a thing for Haymitch, why not.


	2. II

**Goodnight Moon.**

Heavy footsteps joined the song of the creaking house as Haymitch made his way into the kitchen and placed four bags of groceries on the dusty marble countertop. His bottles of rum, whisky and gin in his shoulder bag, he grabs a bottle of aged whisky and cradles it for a moment, hesitating but ultimately set in his habit, he rips the seal and sips from the bottle. Barely noticing the burn down his throat anymore.

When he is done, Haymitch starts to feel an itch at the back of his neck, like someone is watching him, he turns around slowly and sees the darkness staring back. He stills his body for a moment, listening to the groans of the house, the air was so cold he could see his own steady breath. Haymitch made a point of walking around the ground floor and switching on all the lights, closing every window and locking every door. He violently shut the curtains against the peering moon and when he felt content enough with the silence, he wandered upstairs into the darkness.

Never one for knocking, Haymitch opened the door and slipped through into the bedroom belonging to what he thought was a ghost of a person, still huddled under a silk sheet and shivering, just like he left her.

"Hello Katniss, hope you've missed me." his thick accent added something comforting to the sarcastic tone.

Her back turned to Haymitch, her eyes narrowed on the crescent moon through the open window "You are very loud." Katniss murmured.

Haymitch made a sound at the back of his throat, and sauntered in front of her shivering form. "…and you are very cold, why don't you ever close the windows?" he said as he closed them for her, wondering if he should nail them shut. "you'll freeze to death in this house…" he was about to sit down next to her, but noticed her duvet thrown carelessly on the floor and picked it up. He finally looked at her sullen face, something between a sour mood and idleness painted her expression, her chewed up lips were pulled into a tight frown and her eyes faded into a narrow glare at his presence. As per usual, he thought.

She didn't protest as he inched forward and picked her up, he felt like he was carrying a small child, not the body of a full grown woman. He glanced down at her while she was still glaring at him tirelessly, something at the tip of her tongue. He smiled "Don't worry, I wont drop you this time– I am almost sober."

Her death grip on his shirt seemed to loosen while she muttered "Your breath still stinks". Haymitch raised an eyebrow and gently set her down on a stool in the dimly lit kitchen. "Cant say much for you either, sweetheart." Haymitch taunted as he handed her the duvet still in his hand, she wrapped it around herself and looked around the countertop and living room.

Haymitch couldn't help but grimace at the sight of her bones, her skin almost transparent in the light, the nightgown she wore did nothing but exaggerate how small she had gotten. Her hair was in a thin disarray, shiny with grease and her eyes tight, bruised by sleepless nights. He took a deep breath, "I got you a few things, here…lets see." Haymitch started unwrapping all the things he bought and set them on the countertop "Strawberries! You like those, i think –plums, your favourite, probably–milk, eggs–" Katniss watched him, bored with this routine show. "Some shower stuff, smells nice." he went on. "…and uhh, i think thats it, actually–" he pulled out a book from the bottom of a bag and slid it across to Katniss.

She tentatively held the cover and read the fading letters "…Goodnight Moon?" She raised her eyebrow and looked at the man, who stood there, arms tight across his chest and a carnival smile. She flipped through the colourful pages, long faded but still noticeable. "Haymitch, this is a children's book…did you even look at it before you stole it?" she questioned knowingly.

"Off-course not." came his reply. Nonetheless, she flipped through the pages and muttered the story, he packed away the groceries and prepared dinner for two, not asking what she wanted because they both knew Haymitch could only cook one dish well enough to eat; thick rustic vegetable stew. His bowl accompanied a glass of whisky, her's with a glass of fresh milk, and so went their dinner.

While she finished her stew, Haymitch carried all the fruit he bought up into her bedroom along with a pitcher of water, everything within reach of the bed, because he knew she won't go downstairs on her own. He made a point of going into every room upstairs, closing all the windows and doors, turned on the heating and started the bath, ready for her.

Haymitch found Katniss standing in front of the large window looking directly into the moon, the book clutched tightly in her hand and her duvet in the other. If he stood far away enough, she'd look like she was longing for something, but the closer he approached her, her expression appeared almost hateful.

He stared at the moon with her for a moment, he glanced back down and almost flinched when he saw her already looking into him, through him. Eyes averted he led her away by her shoulders "Lets get you upstairs" Haymitch didn't have to carry her this time, though by the time they reached the landing she was visibly out of breath. They reached the bathroom just in time before the bath began to overflow with foam bubbles, Haymitch took her duvet and reached for the book but she held it tightly against her chest. "Not finished." He left her for a few minutes and took care of her bed, this was an old routine and he didn't mind it, he just felt like this house was watching his every move.

He gathered her clean clothes and the toiletries he bought her, reemerged in the bathroom to find her soaked and covered in bubbles, not even noticing his presence as she read the last remaining pages of the book he gave her. The sight was almost childlike, if it wasn't for the harshness of her elbows, or the tight skin around her body. He thinks back to her days during the rebellion, decked out in her black leather Mockingjay get-up and bow, he almost laughed, almost.

Once she was done reading "Wash up quickly, unless you want me wash your hair for you Princess" Haymitch said. She huffed and almost threw the book at him, telling him to get out. He leaned against a wall in her bedroom, gnawing on a plum, wondering if she'd drowned herself again. When she reemerged into the room Haymitch felt slight relief, she lay on her bed with her back towards him again, he wondered if maybe she did drown herself and this was just her ghost.

She dismissed her duvet and Haymitch wanted to throw his plum stone at her thick head. "Alright Princess, let me tuck you in, shall I?" dripped in sarcasm, he began to pull the blanket over her as she turned on her back and faced his looming body over her. "I can do it myself." Katniss murmured, Haymitch looked into her grey seam eyes and felt almost exhausted at her lack of conviction. "Then why don't you sweetheart?" he asked, knowing the answer. She frowned and looked more vulnerable than he thought she could be, "I don't want to."

He sighed deeply, feeling much older than he looked. "I'll see you in three days…and eat your food…keep the windows locked, or I'll nail them shut myself." As he retreated out of the bedroom, he felt guilt churning in his gut– she looked so small, this house was too big for her and too empty for her to call it a home. Haymitch wanted to stay, but the open wide windows in the living room made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Once again, he charged through the room and shut every window and curtain violently, he quickly grabbed his belongings and disappeared into the night, with the moon paving his way.

* * *

its really tough trying to limit 'sweetheart' once per chapter.


	3. III

**The Discipline of Comfort.**

It was dinnertime, and then the sun set, and Haymitch was again in that house, it was too big, it didn't feel right, it didn't belong to her. He never referred to it as _her_ house, or _her home,_ because it simply wasn't:

Months ago, when Katniss was revived and Haymitch had to drag her limp body back to District 12, he found himself incapable of getting her to move, speak or even eat. He caught himself listening to her breathing, and panicking when her chest stopped moving for a little bit too long. He didn't want to leave her alone in her house, so for a few months, Katniss stayed at his house, she joined him in his own solitary confinement, except she was being treated as a coma patient, under a 24 hour surveillance carried out by Greasy Sae during the day, and Haymitch himself during the night, where she seemed to come out her deep self-imposed slumber for a few minutes at a time.

Haymitch had to watch her eyes become alert and increasingly panicked, until she made something akin to a drowning sound, until sweat started to pour out her skin rapidly and her hands would clench violently, and he had to learn how to comfort someone.

He realised it was the hardest thing he's ever had to learn– he thought it was enough just to embrace her and whisper some reassuring words, but it did nothing but cage her, it was like throwing a fire blanket over a blazing inferno. The first time he attempted to comfort her this way; she lashed out at him, grabbed a hidden knife under her pillow, took it while Greasy Sae wasn't looking, and slashed it blindly in the dark until she cut Haymitch deep across his bicep, and Haymitch, bleeding and drunk in the dark, thought only to laugh. " _You're turning into me, sweetheart, all you need now is to replace your blood stream with a nice old scotch."_

In return, Haymitch got up extra early the next night, he got drunk enough to convince himself it would be a good idea, that some shock therapy would 'snap her out of it', so he filled a bucket of ice cold water and dumped it on her.

What he thought would be payback became a tactless act, Katniss sprung out of bed and screamed on top of her lungs, her breathing became violent, erratic – she looked like she was choking. Haymitch reached out to settle her and she ran blindly into the dark night– they found her in the woods– scared and shivering like a deer. Her grey wide eyes, filled with tears as he approached her–he couldn't touch her, couldn't come near her, he hated himself. Shame overcame him every time he glanced at her, he felt like a monster–rotten and old, selfish and useless.

So he clenched his jaw and stayed away, he started to feel even more confined in his own house than before. He could not bring himself to face her for two weeks, but then she started screaming again. Haymitch didn't want to touch her, in case she broke like glass, but he didn't want to stand-by and watch her suffer again, he may pretend he doesn't care what she thinks of him in his way, but deep down Haymitch knows he is rotting and much deeper he knows she is watching, silently calling for help and his hand. He sighed, took a swig of lukewarm gin, and sat himself carefully on the bed, very conscious of his proximity _. "Hey, kid. Shut it will you? You're going to wake everyone within 3 miles…"_ Haymitch winced at his own tone, already knowing that humour was his last defence when he's this low, that and coupled with drinking, he turned to his old harsh and irascible habits, but Katniss always knew that, and she could see that.

Haymitch hated treating her like a caged animal, like something frightened, abused and desolate; he was never one for treading on eggshells around Katniss, he said what he wanted to her, and vice versa–there were no emotional boundaries between them–of secrets there were many, but that's a whole different matter.

Comforting Katniss, he realised, would take discipline, he needed to forget his discomfort or lack of experience, and try. No one in the world has gotten anywhere without trying, he could not be punished for trying.

Haymitch started off slow, trying to think of what used to comfort him when he was a child, and his mother was alive and well. So he held Katniss' hands– something he used to do before to spark reassurance _'you can do this' 'you are strong' 'you will be fine'_ , but his hands couldn't stop shaking long enough, and her hands were ice cold, and Katniss would never be _fine_ again, the hope of being fine someday had been chipped away rapidly with each passing year since she entered the games. Her hand had trembled between his, and her eyes widened as the full moon above them illuminated their faces through the bay window. She will never be _fine,_ but she will be _okay,_ she will cope one day, and he had to get her to that day, he just had to, he owed it to her.

So he tried harder, he thought of how he used to comfort his girlfriend, when she sneaked into his room, stumbling over his window and marred with grief, shaking with sobs, always worried– so worried, that his name will be picked, that she will never see him again. He didn't realise how right she was for her tears, not back then. She was best when he stroked her back, when the tip of his finger ran along the ridges of her spine, her breathing most calm when his hands stroked her shoulder and ran along her neck to play with her hair. The same seemed to solace Katniss, her fists would unclench and in the morning she would wake up and whisper a quick murmur of gratitude, he'd dismiss it with a wave of his hand and throw himself into the nearest couch.

He hadn't provided comfort to anyone in so long, he thought he was incapable of ever doing it again, but once Haymitch started trying, he realised it was like muscle memory; unused for many years, but ultimately, ingrained in his bone marrow.

He reminisced, to what it was like having someone rely on him emotionally again, a kinetic friction sparked between the palm of his hand and her bare skin. Emotionally, he felt needed, and useful, but it drained him. And every night he would wake up, crawl into his room and lean heavily against a wall with a drink, and watch her slowly bloom during the night, and catch her every time she faltered. He was there, he was needed.

It took him two months to learn how to comfort Katniss, he never thought that at 42, he would learn something new. Haymitch realised how shallow he'd been at first; that an embrace doesn't constitute an understanding, that a generic ' _you will be fine, its' okay'_ does not induct a sense of warmth. That he had to delve deeper, kickstart something inside himself to start actually giving a shit; give something up, to complete someone else.

Greasy Sae's one-eyed smile told Haymitch that he was doing something right.

* * *

One day, Haymitch got a knock on his door. No one ever knocked. Haymitch slowly got up and rubbed his face, made sure Katniss was fast asleep and closed her bedroom door.

When he swung open the front door, he wasn't surprised to see a uniformed correspondent of the Capitol with a league of triumphant builders behind her.

 _''Good morning, Mr Abernathy! I hope we didn't wake you.''_ Hilaree Parks, a fairly attractive and successful architect from the Capitol, clearly aware she disturbed Haymitch, reached out her manicured hand _''It's an honour to finally meet you.''_ Haymitch, slightly perturbed but not forgetting his manners, shook her hand in greeting. '' _And you.''_

Hilaree Parks, had always been one to outdo herself, every project she spent more and planned longer, every year, before the rebellion, she would have redesigned the apartments for the tributes lavishly, right before they were sent for slaughter, but now that the Hunger Games were over, she had taken on a new venture; to tear down and re-built every Victors house that remained with a living winner of the Hunger Games. Her proposition was ultimately approved, since it provided employment for a vast number of mechanics, labourers and retailers, additionally, each district wanted to participate and give a gift to the few remaining Victors of the hunger games, especially Katniss Everdeen.

Parks was now staring at a particularly dark stain on Haymitch's shirt. _"How is Miss Everdeen? Can I see her? I'd like to deliver her the good news; after much hard work, I am proud to say that I have completed re-building the whole house, I think you two are going to fall in love with it! I know I have."_ Haymitch's fingers twitched, the sun was glaring into his eyes, and this woman seemed to forget that the actual people who gutted and replaced the innards of the house, were standing right behind her. These past few months he's heard and witnessed the collapse and development of this mini-mansion built for two, Haymitch had no intention of living in it, but he couldn't reject it and once again, he was part of a motion he didn't want to be another vain cog in.

Haymitch told Parks that Katniss was busy at the moment, but they will both meet her and the builders in five minutes in front of the house.

Katniss was difficult, she didn't want to see her new house, she didn't want to get up, her tone was whiny, her attitude was sour, and Haymitch didn't like that she was making him nag like an impatient, fed-up parent. _"If you don't get up, she wont leave, and she if doesn't leave I will kill myself."_ Haymitch said, and threw a pile of clothes at her limp form. _"Not my problem."_ Katniss barked out.

Haymitch couldn't stand it, he felt as tired as he looked, he had a pounding headache, his muscles were aching and he felt as old as father time."No, _you see, you're my problem sweetheart, you're making me treat you like a child, don't make me clothe you like a one too."_ Haymitch slammed the doors as he left the house behind, and walked slowly over to Parks, not far behind, an apathetic and stumbling Katniss followed. Parks seemed to jumping with excitement as she gave a tour of the new edifice; it was a handsome, uniform building, composed of a centre of four stories, and two wings of two stories, made of quality stone, and decked with an intriguing portico, resting on two sweeping flights of stairs: many rooms, splendidly furnished. Parks had wanted to display the riches and luxury in the reflection of the golden days of the Capitol; on particular occasions, the house could have been superbly brilliant and dazzling. Its corridors adorned with the most costly works of art, its surfaces and tabletops presented with a gorgeous combination of gold, silver, precious metals, and precious stones, arranged and worked by the most tasteful artists and artisans from Panem. Added to this grandeur, these glamorous objects; multiplied by large dear mirrors, was a vast, choice, and precious library. Its roof was arched, and supported by large stone piers.

But something was horrifically wrong, something wasn't right, and Haymitch and Katniss wanted nothing more, but to set it ablaze.


End file.
